


Gate of the Valley

by Roga



Category: Tanakh
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 08:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/pseuds/Roga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the Gate of the Valley, a royal carriage breaks down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gate of the Valley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hagar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/gifts).



  


*

A lone cypress stood tall on the lower slopes of the valley, surrounded by rocks and the dead yellow brush of late summer. It didn't provide much shade for the carriage that broke down on the road below it.

"Fuck," said the King. 

"No thanks, it's too hot," said Abigail.

"You're hilarious," David said dryly, and drew apart the curtains. "Can we get some help in here? Someone? Anyone?" 

"Can the man who slaughtered Goliath not help his men mend a broken wheel?"

"Too much sun outside," he said, yawning and stretching back against the cushions. "You know I'll get freckled. We can't have the weather marring this pretty face," he said, his grin just self-deprecating enough to be, unfortunately, charming. 

"Your face is certainly more appealing than your vanity," Abigail said. "Though I often have no idea why I put up with either."

"It's because I'm an excellent lover," he said matter-of-factly. His hand wandered to caress Abigail's left ankle, resting on the seat beside him, sliding his thumb across the arch of her foot. "And a poet, and an artist, a musician and a warrior, a strategist and a leader—"

"No, you're right, it's just the sex," she said, wriggling her toes. "You are rather useless otherwise." She couldn't help but shudder as David's fingers pressed in, however.

"Yes, most," he said slyly, then seemed to grow tired with flirting and released her leg. He raised his voice. "Joab!" 

A short clip-clop of hooves on dirt, and Joab pulled up by the window. "Yes, Uncle?"

"Are we getting on with this, or what?"

"The men are replacing the wheel with the spare," Joab said patiently. The carriage gave a small lurch, demonstrating his words. "We should arrive in Jaffa by mid-afternoon."

"Fish," said David. "All I wanted was some good fish. The Philistines have the best fish in the world."

"We know," Joab and Abigail said simultaneously, Abigail rolling her eyes, Joab a tad more fondly. 

David sighed wistfully. "When I lived with the Philistines, I had fish all the time. It was heavenly."

"And now you have defeated them and can have fish delivered to the palace in Jerusalem," Abigail said.

David smiled wryly. "I am a simple man with simple pleasures," he said, leaning against an embroidered silk pillow. "I like the smell of the ocean and taste of fresh, crisply-roasted fish."

"Just a simple shepherd boy," Abigail said. David's lips curved up farther. 

"They've not forgiven me yet," he said, and she wondered whether it weighed on him truly, the violent – the triumphant – battles against those who'd taken him in, whom he had once considered brothers. With David, one could never really tell. "If there is ever any hope for peaceful, long-term trade between us and the people of iron the sea, I am willing to extend this small gesture." He pulled a small purple flower from somewhere about his robes and offered it to her, twirling between his thumb and forefinger. She had absolutely no idea where he'd produced it from. 

She plucked it from his hand. "You once severed two hundred Philistine foreskins for sport, and now you think you can mend relations by complimenting their cuisine?"

David smirked. "You don't think I'm charming enough?"

Frighteningly enough, she thought he just might be. 

"Perhaps," she conceded. "Though you might have to sleep around a bit."

David laughed. "I can do that."

The carriage lurched again, and then rocked forward. "That's it," said Joab, tapping the roof of the carriage twice. "We're ready to go."

"Finally," said David. He ran a hand through his hair, curling with sweat in the heat. "Get me some water, I'm dying here."

"Thirsty from all your hard work, are you?" said Abigail.

Joab smirked, and grabbed one of his men. "Fetch some water for the King," he ordered. With a last look at the both of them, he spurred his horse on to the front of the convoy.

David closed his eyes.

Abigail kicked him gently. "Do you really believe it?" she asked. 

"Mmm," he grunted.

"Your plans for trade. Lasting peace with those who slew the last king and his sons."

His brow furrowed minutely, and then smoothed again. "I do." He opened his eyes, piecing blue gaze meeting hers. "Perhaps not in my lifetime. There is – baggage, there. But someday. If not me, then my sons."

"Which sons would those be?"

David cracked a smile. "The wise ones."  
Abigail laughed. "You dream great dreams, my King."

David closed his eyes again, on his way to sleep. The carriage rolled on towards the coast.


End file.
